Once Broken
by RPGgirl514
Summary: "They never would have met had it not been for Hawke, and it was mutual dislike for the woman that bound them together now." New title, same story. Post-DA2. Merrill reflects on how much her view of the world has changed because of Fenris.


Dawn peeked over the horizon, flooding the plain with pale rosy light. Two elves were seated before a campfire, hunched over to better draw in its warmth. The Free Marches had been unseasonably cold as of late. Merrill thought perhaps that the political upheaval in the city might have thrown off the balance of things, but that was silly.

Merrill chanced a look at the warrior beside her. He wore a dark cloak pulled up to hide his distinctive tattoos and stark white hair, but she had seen him so often for the past eight years that she knew his face by heart. Not that she liked him, of course; she didn't really like him at all. They never would have met had it not been for Hawke, Merrill mused, and it was mutual dislike for the woman that bound them together now.

Merrill and Fenris had been on the run through the Free Marches for a fortnight, moving only under cover of darkness to avoid templars and others who might wish harm on former associates of the Champion of Kirkwall. Two weeks prior, Hawke and her lover had blown up the Chantry and plunged the city into chaos.

Oh, she had played dumb, of course; what else could she do in front of the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter? But Hawke had helped Anders gather the materials for the explosion. She had even distracted the Grand Cleric while Anders planted the bomb. No one was that thick. Well, Merrill relented,_ she_ hadn't known what Anders was planning. But Hawke shared a bed with him; they spent every waking minute together! She was a smart woman. She must have known what he was up to.

Once upon a time, Merrill had thought she and Hawke would become good friends. They were both mages, after all, and mages stuck together, right? But years of companionship had proved her wrong. It was true, Hawke had helped her out with her clan and the Eluvian, but Hawke had been just as close-minded as the Keeper when it came to blood magic. Merrill had always known the risks and weighed them against the potential gains. It had always evened out. Until that day on Sundermount.

Merrill's eyes brimmed with tears, and she blinked them away. No need for Fenris to see her weakness, not when he already thought her unbearably weak. She, on the other hand, thought him anything but weak. He was the strongest person she knew.

He hated her for what she was and for the path she had chosen to make for herself, but she admired him for that. Merrill knew Fenris had endured pain beyond her greatest imaginings, and yet he sat here beside her, still mostly whole. Keeper Marethari had always said that broken things, once mended, were strongest at the broken places. Merrill thought she knew now what that meant. Fenris had risen from the ashes of his life as a slave to become a phoenix. Metaphorically, of course.

Merrill had first met Fenris on Sundermount. Asha'bellanar had looked upon the former slave and seen right through him. "The chains are broken," she had said, "but are you truly free?" Merrill had known little about him then, only that he disapproved of blood magic and found her foolish for using it. In the years that followed, she hadn't discovered much more than that, but she had realized that his hatred of mages was his way of keeping his secrets close. Like a wolf, after which Fenris was aptly named, he lashed out in pain and anger to protect himself.

If she was being honest with herself, she did the same thing, when cornered. When she and Fenris had traveled together in the past, he always had a knack for brutal honesty. And after so many years, Merrill was starting to realize he was right. Even Marethari's life, laid down for hers, had not humbled her, a point Fenris had brought up soon after the debacle on Sundermount. His apology had been sincere, but she had railed against him anyway, and in true Fenris fashion, he had returned in kind.

It had taken the horror of First Enchanter Orsino turning into a Harvester to open Merrill's eyes. She finally realized what Fenris, Marethari, Hawke and even Asha'bellanar had been trying to tell her all these years. "No path is darker than when your eyes are shut."

She had said, "Ma serannas," without really thinking about it. An automatic response to one in authority.

Orsino's blood magic had been the straw that broke the halla's back. How was her own magic so different? She, too, could become just as corrupted. She could die alone in a cave, possessed by her own hubris, just as Marethari had. Her own arrogance was to blame for the deaths of her entire clan. The realization that it was all her fault was overwhelming. She had fled once the battle was over, unable to face Hawke in her shame.

Merrill left Kirkwall, wandering the Wounded Coast until a light drizzle began to fall. She relished the softness of the rain on her face and arms, proof that the Creators did not hate her, that she was being given a second chance. Eventually, however, she took shelter in a cave, and found she was not alone. She and Fenris had traveled together ever since.

It had been a close thing. It was by Hawke's mercy that either of them were alive, regardless of how they both felt about the mage now. Hawke's bleeding heart had stayed her hand in the Gallows when Fenris stood against her. Merrill, ever the pacifist, had held her breath so long it hurt as Fenris and Hawke sparred in the center of the courtyard. Hawke shot spells to wound, but Fenris fought to kill. Years of pent-up rage and frustration with the Champion came out in combat.

The other companions stood back and watched. Merrill wondered who they hoped to win. Varric and Aveline would stand by Hawke, of course, no matter what she did, as would Anders. Merrill considered the two combatants. She disliked both of them, but she would hate to see either fall. It was only as Hawke commanded an invisible force that slammed Fenris into the hard cobblestones that Merrill made her decision. She respected Fenris far more than she respected Hawke, and if she had to choose, she chose him. Merrill stuffed her fingers in her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

Fenris got up on his knees, his great sword still grasped in one hand but pointing harmlessly away. His mouth was smeared with blood, and his tattoos glowed faintly in the red twilight. Hawke's staff was at his throat, both hands gripping the shaft, ready to strike. At this range, Hawke wouldn't need magic to take his head off.

"Yield, Fenris," Hawke said. "I give you your life."

Merrill shook her head unconsciously. She knew he would never take the deal, for what was Fenris without honor? He didn't speak, just glared up at Hawke, his chest heaving with labored breath. He was wounded, but Merrill had fought beside him long enough to know that's when he was at his best.

"I don't want to kill you, Fenris," Hawke sighed, relenting. "I know we never saw eye to eye, but I never wanted it to end like this. Just . . . get out of here." She lowered her staff and walked out of the courtyard with cool confidence that she would not be pursued by the elf she had just bested. Without a word, Aveline, Varric, and Anders followed. Merrill whimpered, her eyes fixed on Fenris. He turned his venom on her.

"Fenris, I –" Merrill started.

"Go save your stupid mages," he snarled, getting to his feet and limping away, the tip of his sword dragging on the ground, the whisper of steel on stone fading away as he disappeared from sight with alarming finality.

Merrill had never expected to see him again, and yet here they were, together. He was the same as he had ever been, silent and ill-tempered, but she had changed. No longer did she fill the space between them with inane chatter. She was quiet more often now, lost in her memories and the void left in her from the blood magic she had sworn to give up. Merrill knew Fenris had noticed the change in her. Perhaps that was why he deigned to travel with her.

Perhaps, she thought, as she extinguished the fire until it was only burning embers, that was the beauty in the broken.


End file.
